A Double  with Extra Whip
by keru.m
Summary: Harm loses a bet with Mac.


Disclaimer: I don't own any of it. Except for the unfortunate barista, and I'm not too sure I want to advertise that fact.

A/N: I took some liberties with the characterization in this one. It seems to me that Mac is way too alone for someone with such obvious warmth and caring – not that I have a degree in psychology. But, hey, I'm playing pretend here.

A Double – with Extra Whip

Harm watched as she stood at the counter, ordering their cups of coffee. He enjoyed these odd moments of unobtrusive study that were occasionally presented to him. He liked watching her when she was engrossed in reading some text or studying her dinosaur bones and diagrams – the look of concentration on her face, curiosity sparkling in her eyes. His favourite was watching her cook or, to be more precise, attempt to cook by following one of the many recipes he'd write down for her after she'd insist that she could so make whatever it was he had prepared that evening. She was a marine, besides if he could do it how could she not? Her approach was singular in its entertainment value. He was sure that wars were fought with less planning. She'd start by placing the recipe on the table and reading it, hands on her hips, brow furrowed. She'd read it once, twice. Then she would carry out a recon of the cabinets, cupboards and the fridge to take out all the items required and place them on the table, in the order used in the recipe. He would usually tell her at this point that the best chefs were the ones who could feel it, who put love and spontaneity into the effort, not those who approached cooking like most would approach estate planning. At this point, she would usually give him a glare that would make lesser men spontaneously combust and tell him to stuff it, usually in much more colourful language. So perhaps he wasn't all that unobtrusive in his study of her.

His musings were interrupted by the light sound of her laughter. He couldn't help but smile, it sounded like a crystal waterfall to his ears. His smile disappeared, however, as he noted that the laugh was directed at the curly-haired, pimpled, pre-pubescent knucklehead who was preparing her double machi-something whip-whatever.

She smiled at the boy as he handed her the coffees and then made her way to their table. Her smile widened when she saw Harm watching her, a slight frown marring his features. She knew that look. Deciding to rib him about it a bit, she handed him his coffee and took a seat.

"Jealous?" She might have been kidding but she sounded altogether too pleased at the prospect for his liking. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction so he had no choice but to deny it.

"Am not."

She studied him over her obnoxiously complicated drink. He was sure he could make a better one if he had that machine at home. Pimple boy wouldn't stand a chance.

"Miss? Your muffin." He looked up to see the very same pimple boy eagerly handing Mac a plate with a muffin on it. She smiled and thanked him. Harm could have sworn a few of his pimples popped. As it was, he was wrestling between whether to roll his eyes or pummel the kid to the ground for standing so close to his Mac. Rolling his eyes might keep him from getting discharged from the Navy. Pummelling would satisfy some baser urges.

It was time to break this party up. "Thanks, kid. Don't keep the customers waiting," Harm nodded none too kindly towards the steadily building line-up in front of the counter. The boy looked towards the counter mildly alarmed and more than a little embarrassed before rushing back.

"You're insane," Mac said, shaking her head.

"I thought you said I was jealous," he tried to sound smug but had the feeling he would lose this exchange before it even began.

"You're insane because you're jealous. He's a kid!"

"He was looking at you funny. No respect," Harm grumbled.

She considered teasing him some more but decided to save that for when she could follow through on the verbal teasing with teasing of another kind. She shook her head and decided to change the subject.

"What do you think of the drink?"

He eyed the concoction in front of him warily. The cup containing the drink was normal enough – one of those paper cups with a sleeve to keep eager hands from burning. No, what worried him was what was inside the cup: the drink that Mac had ordered for him.

Early on in their association, he would ceaselessly tease her about her marine-grade coffee. He fondly remembered a particular instance when he told her on a Monday morning before she had had her first cup – rookie mistake – that the coffee was almost over because the construction crew outside HQ was using the stuff to tar the road. His arm had sported an angry bruise for four days. She had apologized profusely and was contrite to a degree above and beyond what the situation called for. He finally decided to absolve her of her guilt by informing her that he was telling all who asked that it was not a bruise, but a marine hickey. She threatened to give him a matching 'hickey' on his other arm before giving him a look that made him think that being beaten by an entire contingent of marines would be a better fate. Luckily she had left his office before he could voice that thought.

When they had finally moved beyond being co-workers and friends, he had discovered just how hidden she had kept a lot of herself. He had not known how deep her emotions ran or just how harsh the mirror she held to herself was. He had not known that, not only did she still attend AA meetings, but that she was a sponsor. He had not known that she still corresponded with her team from Bosnia or her law school roommates. He had no idea that her wardrobe had so much lace – well, a specific component of her wardrobe and one that he enjoyed thoroughly. He definitely had no clue that she loved these complicated coffee drinks loaded with bells and whistles that would make Santa's elves scratch their heads. She definitely held it close to the vest. He supposed he was not much different from her in that regard. She had told him how surprised she was by so much of what he did, how she felt she was continually uncovering new layers. Well, as far as he was concerned, she could peel back any of his layers at anytime. And he wouldn't hesitate to return the favour.

Mac watched his expression go from wary to smug to contemplative to something better saved for the bedroom. She cleared her throat to regain his attention.

"The drink, Harm. Have a sip."

"What is it called?"

She shook her head playfully. "Guess."

He looked at the coffee cup as though he could uncover the secrets of the universe if he concentrated hard enough. He regretted that one slip, two weeks ago, when he told her those elaborate coffees were the kind of excess and indulgence that the founders of their country had striven to escape. "I thought it was taxes," she had answered glibly. He had shaken his head and informed her in a tone he knew, as the very words were forming on his tongue, he should not have used within a 4 mile radius of her, that "there is no way I would imbibe a drink like that. This impressive figure," he lowered his voice a bit, "that you enjoyed so much last night," he had the gall to wink, "requires discipline, Mac, not sugar, caffeine and milk-based liquids and powders."

"They also come in soy."

"Mac."

She eyed him, a challenging gleam in her eyes. Part of him was worried, another part very eager with anticipation

"Alright, Adonis. Here's how we do it. If I win a greater percentage of cases than you by the end of the week, you have to drink a coffee creation," she emphasized the word 'creation', "of my choice over the weekend."

"And if I win-"

"Oh, you don't need to worry about that. You're not going to win."

He ignored her interruption, "if I win you have to go vegetarian for the weekend."

She considered his proposal. "The whole weekend?"

"Can't hack it? Too big a challenge for the big bad marine?" His tone was slightly mocking. He hoped she wasn't going to give him another of her now infamous marine hickeys. A hickey of another sort, he wouldn't mind.

She snorted. "Out of the gutter, Rabb."

He idly wondered how she could read him like that.

She continued: "I devour challenges for breakfast while you're still debating which flavour of granola to eat with your blueberries, Stick boy."

So that's how she wanted to play it. "Right. Because your stomach lining is made of iron. Any sane person would find eating half a fried dead cow for breakfast a challenge."

"Well, Granola boy, I won my case this morning…I'm thinking extra whipped cream," she said this with a wicked gleam before leaving the break room. He watched her walk away, enjoying thoughts of her and whipped cream before Bud reminded him that he was due in court in five minutes.

He was inordinately pleased that he had won their bet that first week and made a point of reminding her that the weekend began at 5pm on Friday. He also didn't hesitate to gloat at every opportunity and made a huge production of serving her tofu on Friday night. She was meeting Harriet for breakfast on Saturday so she didn't spend the night at his place – something he was building up the nerve to ensure would never happen again. He made sure Harriet was aware of her pseudo-fast and the reason behind it. Mac was less than pleased about that and let him know it when she went to his apartment following her outing with Harriet. He replied that he had no idea marines were such sore losers. She declared that she would suck it up and "go veggie," but only for the integrity of the Corps. In the evening, he dragged her – literally – into a vegan restaurant before taking her home for a dessert of soy ice cream. She threatened to leave his apartment until he asked her if her eagle, globe and anchor came with an opt-out clause. So she did what any self-respecting marine would do: she demanded a re-match for the following week and then promptly took him to bed.

Sunday morning she woke him up in a most pleasant manner before offering to make breakfast. She pre-empted his usual teasing about her cooking "battle plans" – as he had christened them – by informing him that she'd be frying up some bacon. His objection died on his lips as he noticed her eyes slowly roaming his body in a positively indecent manner. She looked him in the eye, "I didn't hear you complain about my appetite for meat last night," her gaze travelled much lower, "or this morning." She winked and left for the kitchen, humming. Needless to say, Mac had bacon for breakfast that morning.

The following week, however, found him on the losing end of the re-match. So here he was, in a coffee shop, sitting across from a very smug Mac who was being ogled by some high school kid with coffee beans.

He considered using her own trick on her. After all, if it got her bacon, it might get him a plain black coffee.

"Won't work, Navy." He looked up to see the look of satisfaction on her face. "Go on, you might enjoy it."

He seriously doubted that whatever it was that was hiding under layers of whipped cream and what looked like caramel sauce would hold much appeal. "My taste buds are too sophisticated for-"

"You eat tofu, Harm. And now I can speak from experience and say that you might as well not have taste buds, eating that stuff. I finally figured out what was in that meatless meatloaf of yours." She looked thoroughly disgusted. "I can't believe you fed me that." She pointed at his drink, "Consider yourself lucky I didn't order you an extra-large one."

"Lucky would be a wormhole opening up next to me right now," he mumbled, glancing longingly at the painting on the wall next to him.

He was rewarded with a roll of her eyes. He took a deep breath and picked up the cup. He smelled the contents before taking a hesitant sip. The mound of whipped cream topping left a trail on the corner of his mouth. She absently used her thumb to wipe it up before quickly sucking her thumb clean.

"It's good, isn't it?" she asked him, trying to gauge his reaction to the drink.

He threw a glance at the still moist pad of her thumb and weighed the odds. Deciding they were in his favour, he took a larger sip of the drink. He almost didn't register the cloying sweetness of the whipped cream and caramel sauce at the back of his throat or taste the velvety bitterness of the espresso beans as he anticipated her next move. He felt her thumb applying a slight pressure on the corner of his lips to collect the whipped cream he, intentionally this time, got there. He watched as she once again licked her thumb clean.

"You need to learn to drink it properly. You're making a mess," she chastised him. At the look in his eye it suddenly occurred to her that the drink wasn't what was on his mind at the moment.

"I can't even take you out anymore, Harm!" She sounded exasperated.

"That a problem?" He smiled his trademark grin and she decided that it wasn't. She wondered if this new aspect of their relationship – after all, it had only been a few weeks – was the reason for his mind being in the bedroom so much of late. Whatever the reason, she hoped this part of them would never fade with time. She didn't think it would, not if she had a say in the matter.

Harm got up and offered her his hand. "Shall we?"

She took his hand and they left, but not before Harm dropped a hefty tip in the glass jar by the cash register.


End file.
